To A Different Beat
by MonAmiToujours
Summary: There he was, literally dancing to the beat of his own drum. There she was, dressed for winter in the middle of summer. Hinata always liked different, and Deidara always liked strange. DeiHina drabble, AU


**Hello there. So I wrote this in almost entirely one sitting-it just came to me. It's nothing spectacular-just simplicity- so don't expect anything more than that. I haven't written Deidara really and I'm still pretty new to FF so I hope that nothing is too OOC. Reviews & feedback are appreciated as always, even if its just a quick 'I liked it.'**

**I want to say thank you to the random guy in fishnets I saw the other day dancing down the sidewalk in the middle of the day. You are my inspiration. **

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**Hinata peered around the pillar she was currently hiding behind to scan the mass of students leaving for the day. Her vision was clouded with cotton candy pink hair, an alarming amount of spandex, the creepy chemistry teacher and his Harry Potter like assistant, and even someone who appeared to be carrying a duck on top of their head. But no trace of blonde. He wasn't there. She guessed she'd just have to wait a bit longer.

Book bag heavy against her shoulder and legs growing tired after a half hour of waiting, she was beginning to consider leaving when a familiar head of gold passed her lookout. Counting to ten before casually exiting the school as well, she followed him.

She realized that following behind someone discreetly without their knowledge everyday was probably considered to be stalking, and that there was also probably something very wrong with her, but she couldn't help it. He fascinated her. His air of confidence, his charisma, his zeal; he was different. Hinata liked different.

This boy was such a contrast from herself and her own life. While she was simple, subdued, and correct he was flashy, explosive, and bright. It was refreshing and she wondered if maybe she could become a little more interesting, a little bit more like him.

His feet bore converse high tops-one neon pink, the other electric blue. She watched his steps with curiosity, noticing that he never stepped on a crack in the sidewalk and that on every fifth step he transitioned and skipped for three. His tattered skinny jeans were splattered with red, orange, yellow, green, and blue paint of various shades and hues-every color of the rainbow except for purple. Apparently he realized this as well because three skips later he stopped, fiddled with his messenger bag for a moment or two, and retrieved a bottle of purple paint. Popping open the lid, he squirted a sufficient amount onto his jeans and smeared it around with his hand before wiping the remainder under each of his eyes. Satisfied, he grinned and continued his odd walking.

They walked without anymore disturbances for a few minutes before Hinata realized that she was getting too close and stopped to pretend to tie her shoe. After counting to thirty she resumed walking, but noticed that he hadn't gotten more than a few paces ahead. Maybe she had counted too fast.

A tanned hand reached into the pocket of his sweatshirt to retrieve an i-pod and earphones. She loved his hands. They were calloused and dried from the clay he sculpted with. His hands were useful, they were special; they created. The most important task her hands would complete in her life would be to sign a document or file a report. They would never be special; they would never do what no one else could.

She watched the way the rhythm seized control of his footsteps as the music filled his ears. There was a spring, a jauntiness, about him. His hips moved slightly too much as he walked and the momentum increased with each new stretch of pavement. Her head cocked to the side and a puzzled curiosity filled her face. He was full on dancing now, literally marching to the beat of his own drum, shaking his hips from side to side and then in a circular motion as his long hair sashayed in the same pattern. An arm pumped in the air a few times before both arms moved back as his pelvis thrust forward and he sang something about bringing sexy back. Whatever that meant.

He was definitely strange, that was for certain. She was debating his sanity when he spun around, now singing about picking up the slack. His face went blank as hers went red. Pulling the bud from his ear he smirked.

"Are you a stalker, yeah?" She squeaked and feverishly shook her head, regardless of the fact that she knew she probably was.

"N-no! I-I was just walking home."

He nodded dubiously. "You're a Hyuuga. The Hyuuga estate is thirty minutes in the opposite direction, yeah."

"I l-like this route better, it's um…more scenic." Well, there, that was the truth wasn't it?

He smirked again, looking pleased with her answer. "You think I'm weird, yeah." It was a statement rather than a question, but she answered anyway.

"N-not weird." She did a little bit, actually. "I-I think you're different. I like different." Realizing that confessing to liking different also entitled accidentally confessing to liking him, Hinata felt her face heat up and could only guess what shade of red it had turned.

" I think you're weird, yeah." Taken slightly aback, she opened her mouth to interject as well as object (or attempt to, though she agreed with him in all honesty), but he spoke once more before she had the chance.

"Do you realize that it's ninety-eight degrees today? That's freaking hot, yeah. And here you are, in the middle of June, dressed for winter in your huge parka. I think that qualifies as weird."

Hinata felt almost betrayed. She'd admired him for months on end, she'd complimented him (albeit awkwardly), and now he was throwing it all back in her face. Besides, she liked this jacket-even if she was beginning to feel like she might faint at any moment.

What he did next surprised her even more. He smiled.

"Lucky for you, I like weird."

She offered her name in a soft voice with a smile to match.

"Deidara." He replied and as he grinned at her she found it to be contagious as her mouth mirrored his.

Grabbing her wrist within his warm and slightly gritty hand, she followed as he led. They cut across the park, weaving through children playing games, stopping to pet a friendly dog or two, and wound up beneath a sakura tree at which point Deidara promptly shoved her down. Though the gesture was unexpected and rude, she realized he did it out of kindness. She was sticky with sweat from the humidity and walking, and lightheaded from the blistering sun and heavy jacket. It was also becoming quite apparent to her that his actions were rather hard to predict, yet he had little quirks-such as ending his sentences strangely- which were ridiculously consistent. She found his whole persona to be a bit of a paradox at times.

"What's your favorite type of ice cream, yeah?" The question was random, but asked in complete in seriousness.

"A-ano, I l-like neapolitan i-ice cream sandwiches." He smiled and quirked an eyebrow as a chuckle escaped his lips.

"W-what?" Was he honestly mocking her taste in ice cream now, too?

"N-nothing. I had just pegged you as an all vanilla girl, yeah."

Feeling a bit bold, she asked, "W-what ab-about you? W-what's your f-favorite?"

"What's your guess, yeah?"

She looked at him closely now; studying his electric eyes and explosive personality, his crazy ensemble and crazier dancing.

"Bomb pop." She said. Her voice was certain for once devoid of question or doubt.

He smiled once more at her and, once more, she felt herself unable to do anything, but the same.

"You're a good guesser, yeah."

With that he walked away in his paint splattered jeans and she watched his feet carry him away, hoping they would carry him back to her soon.

Cherry blossoms fluttered around her lazily as a breeze picked up, and she found herself reaching to the zipper of her jacket and pulling it down a bit. It was just the top, but she had done it. She could feel herself changing, just a little bit, and she liked it.

As she waited for the boy she hardly knew under a tree she didn't know at all, she wondered about him. She wondered if he was really as crazy as his eyes, she wondered if he liked cinnamon rolls, too. She wondered what he liked to do besides sculpting in the art room at school. She wondered what his favorite color was, if he wanted to know her like she wanted to know him, if maybe they could be friends. She wanted to know if they could maybe be more in the future.


End file.
